


such selfish prayers (i can't get enough)

by blythesome



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull Minibang 2015, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Consent, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Rough Sex, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-21 01:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4810067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blythesome/pseuds/blythesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slight AU.  Dorian and The Iron Bull have formed something of a comfortable friendship until an unexpected demon encounter threatens to ruin it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	such selfish prayers (i can't get enough)

**Author's Note:**

> My submission for the Adoribull Mini-bang! Many thanks to [Iambic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Iambic/pseuds/Iambic) for all the cheerleading, hand-holding, and putting up with my incessant whining. Thanks as well to [electricshoebox](http://archiveofourown.org/users/electricshoebox/pseuds/electricshoebox) and [AislinCade](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AislinCade/pseuds/AislinCade) for their immensely helpful beta work, and of course very, _very_ enthusiastic thanks to [neomeruru](http://archiveofourown.org/users/neomeruru/pseuds/neomeruru) for both her gorgeous art and endless patience.

The whole thing started off pretty routine, which should've tipped the Bull off that the shit was gonna hit the roof by the end of it. With the Inquisition, weird shit was fast becoming his new normal, faster than he could keep up with. In any case, when Adaar had announced her plans to close up a few stray rifts in the Emerald Graves, she'd looked at him with that little half-smirk and asked if he'd wanted to come along to smash a few demons, maybe scout out the area for the dragon they'd heard there once. There hadn't been a thing about that he didn't like the sound of, which in retrospect was damn hilarious, in the the least funny way possible.

Surprisingly, Dorian'd volunteered himself, maybe just to get out of going to the Emprise next time, which the Bull wouldn't put past him but couldn't really hold against the man either. He buckled down and didn't complain about shit when the going actually got tough, so the Bull supposed allowances could be made for Dorian's finicky and apparently delicate constitution. 'Sides, it was almost cute, the fuss he made. Not that Bull'd ever tell him that, not at the risk of getting his junk set aflame. Which Dorian might not do, given their current burgeoning friendship, but he wasn't about to take that chance. He wasn't much of a gambler, to be frank. The only risk worth taking was a calculating one; it paid to be careful and thorough. Life, though, had a way of fucking that up, just as you were starting to get comfortable.

Adaar, the Bull, Dorian, and the ever unflappable Cassandra were all old hats at this rift shit, casually chatting and, in Bull's case, artfully boasting between waves of demons when the easy atmosphere was upended. Instead of a great throng of weak yet troublesome demons all clamoring at once, a single desire demon stepped serenely through the slash in the air. In the breath it took them to come to full alertness, all too battle hardy to remain slackjawed, the creature had passed its gaze over the whole group.

The Bull and Cassandra lunged with their weapons ready as Adaar drew her bow, and the demon affixed Dorian with a look and a knowing smile. Even as the mage paled slightly, he brought up his staff in an elegant, thoughtless twirl to unleash a gout of flame. The damn thing's speed rendered the move fruitless, but gutsy nonetheless. It had already crossed half the clearing by the time any of them had reached their target. The Bull growled a little in his throat, tracking the demon's movements even as he took stock of the surroundings and what he knew of its motivations. He didn't like the look it gave Dorian, and he knew the intent behind it but it was hard to say what the demon had planned exactly. Nothing good, though. Demons were always nasty shit, predictable enough in that regard.

The Bull planted himself in front of Dorian, figuring it'd be a waste of energy to go haring off after the demon. Better to let it come to Dorian. If it wanted to dare to get through him, first. Adaar held back from them, her bow trained steadily on their enemy, and Cassandra taking up a similar stance as the Bull off to Dorian's side. It was perfectly defensible and they could've waited it out if it hadn't been for the sharp chill that crept up the Bull's bad leg like stinging wasps. As his leg gave out unexpectedly, dragging him to the forest floor for a brief time, he heard Adaar swear and Cassandra cry, "Despair demon!"

Planting the butt of his axe in the frosted dirt, the Bull hauled himself back up to his feet. Dorian cursed, behind him, and the ice coating his knee cracked sharply as he twisted to assess the situation. Dorian held the desire demon by one glimmering arm, keeping it in place. Fire poured from his palm, hasty and a hair away from uncontrolled, to envelop it. It shrieked and the Bull slammed the weight of his axe into its spine, ending its life all that much faster. Cassandra and the Inquisitor were finishing off the other demon halfway across the clearing, so he set his axe down to get a good look at Dorian. He was sweaty and winded, but seemed otherwise fine.

"Alright?"

Dorian shuddered a little, but nodded.

"Fine," he said, clipped. Satisfied, the Bull hefted his axe onto his back again, as Adaar and Cassandra approached them.

"Whew," Adaar said, the brass caps on her curling horns catching the sunlight, "that sure was bracing."

"We should be more careful, next time," Cassandra told her.

"And miss out on fun like that?"

Surprisingly, Dorian had no witty rejoinder to add but he had just set a demon on fire without the aid of a staff, so excuses could be made. They resumed their trek through the Graves, Adaar checking her map occasionally as they passed landmarks. The Bull squinted up at the sun through the green of the trees, assessing the time to be about mid afternoon, which gave them plenty of time. Dorian drifted against him from time to time, silent and a bit preoccupied, and a shiver seemed to run through him as the Bull's warmth brushed his bare arm.

Foot catching on uneven ground, he stumbled and staggered into the Bull, who brought a hand to Dorian’s shoulder to steady him. Dorian gave another one of those full-body shudders and pressed himself further into the Bull’s side. He seemed pretty dazed, and unnaturally warm, if the Bull could notice the heat of Dorian’s flushed skin on his. He nudged the mage, who blinked slowly at the surrounding greenery before half-heartedly turning his gaze to meet the Bull’s eye.

“Sure you doing alright?” he asked, “Feeling cold at all?”

The liquid gold of his eyes seemed to abruptly hyperfocus on the broad expanse of the Bull’s chest, the strong line of his throat, gaze hot and intent but somehow abstracted still. Dorian opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head, drawing back in on himself more. He looked away finally, as he put some distance between the two of them, though the line of his shoulders trembled slightly with repressed shivers. Damn 'vints, always too proud when they shouldn't be.

"Look, Dorian," he tried again, “You obviously feel like shit, don’t bother pretendi--”

“It isn’t that,” Dorian interrupted, with an unexpected hoarse edge like speaking was difficult. “It’s not…” his breath caught in his throat, rough as the explanation died on his lips. “Just leave it well alone, would you?”

The Bull let it go then, though he kept a careful eye on Dorian’s condition. Something was wrong, whatever it was, you didn’t need any fancy spy training to see that. Adaar glanced back at her friend a handful of times, brows drawn worriedly, but she and Cassandra were deep in one of those Important Inquisition Conversations and the Bull could handle one off ‘vint mage without her. Dorian was a firebrand, sure, but fire he could handle. You take your care with fire and it warms you to the core, ‘stead of burning you from the inside out.

Dorian looked like that, like his fire had turned inward, molten in his veins. Hopefully only metaphorically, ‘cause shit, that’d be just the kind of fucked up thing a demon could, and would, pull off. Dorian still seemed wracked with fine tremors and each step appeared to require more energy than the man even had to spare. The Bull was a hot few seconds away from simply offering to carry him when Dorian stumbled over a particularly unforgiving knot of gnarled tree roots. Without even a thought, the Bull moved to catch him, one large hand cupping Dorian’s elbow, the other steadying his waist. Dorian hissed, and the Bull worried briefly that he was injured, and hiding it, when the sound that followed was a high whine in his throat, pitiful, but unmistakable.

“Oh damn,” said the Bull, “It got you, didn’t it?”

Dorian’s breathing was shaky from the effort of holding himself back, and he half-moaned his affirmation, clutching at the leather of the Bull’s harness. He bent his head so the fine hairs brushed the bare skin of the Bull’s chest. He watched the way they shook faintly as Dorian struggled to get himself back under control and wasn’t sure if he should move his hands or not. If Dorian needed the support, he’d hate to drop the man on his shapely rear, but if he’d really gotten the full force of that demon’s mojo, the Bull also hated the thought of his touch making things worse. Once certain Dorian was steady enough on his own feet, he pulled away, and startled at Dorian’s drawn out gasp.

“Please,” he whispered, “don’t…”

The Bull froze, uncertain, hands hovering still partially raised but away from Dorian’s body.

“Please,” Dorian moaned again, “Oh, _Kaffas_ , you feel so good…”

In any other circumstance, that would have gone straight to his dick, but he just felt ill instead. Damn demons, messing with people’s heads, finding every good thing and twisting it to their own ends, taking people out of control of their own damn bodies. Dorian shook like a leaf, desperate and shameless and shit, he’d hate that, if he’d been in the right state. He was taking huge gulps of air, and clutching at the Bull like he might drown without him. If his insensate moaning was any indication, the waves were already cresting over Dorian’s head, heedless of his own will.

“I’ve got you,” the Bull murmured softly, as a reassurance, but fuck him sideways, no he didn’t, not at all. If this had been anything else, the Bull would have easily laid a guiding hand on him and walked Dorian out of the trees, at least, but his touch seemed to be making things even worse.

“Please... oh, _fuck_... please…” Dorian trailed off into half-incoherent cursing interspersed with the unceasing mantra of one of the Bull’s favourite words. He tried desperately to mold his own sturdy body against the Bull’s greater bulk, but the larger man put steady hands at Dorian’s shoulders and refused to let him rut. Dorian struggled like a wildcat in heat, mussing his own carefully styled hair and neat, artfully arranged robes even as he swore a blue streak.

“Why, damn you,” he groaned, “why not, you fucking-- please, Maker, your hands-- _fuck_ \--I need… I need you to touch me.”

He was practically sobbing with his hands clamped painfully on the Bull’s massive wrists, nails digging in as he writhed, seeking anything to take the edge off. It should've been hot, and that pissed him off more. Getting to see Dorian lose all control like this would have been rewarding as hell, if he'd gotten to do it the right way. If Dorian had come to him of his own free will, the Bull would've given him anything he wanted and then some.

"Right," he said, "Not gonna happen. Sorry, Dorian."

Dorian's breath hitched audibly as, frantic, he demanded, "Well, why not?"

The Bull ignored this, kept his grip on Dorian as firm and impartial as possible, but that wasn't much of a solution at all and he knew it. Couldn't just ignore a problem and hope it went away. He took his focus away from Dorian to find the two of them utterly alone in the shade of the great trees.

"Hey, Boss," he called, pitching his voice in a way he hoped carried to the Inquisitor and not yet another bear. "Got a problem here!"

The crashing in the undergrowth sounded much more like two women in a hurry than anything else, and the Bull was glad of it when they rushed into sight.

"Dorian!" Adaar exclaimed, as, huffing, Cassandra asked, "Is he... alright?"

"Yeeeaah, not so much. Think he got hit by... _something_ from that desire demon. You need to get him to a place where he can work through it safely. Alone."

"Of course," said Adaar, thoughtful, her sea green eyes trained absently somewhere over his shoulder. Cassandra eyed Dorian warily, like she was loathe to do it, but too well-trained to do otherwise. He appreciated that watchfulness. Dorian trembled in his grip, nails digging in the Bull's flesh hard enough to draw blood. Undoubtedly he was biting his lip in much the same fashion.

"There's a town not far off, I think," said the Inquisitor.

"Which surely has an inn." Cassandra nodded.

"You're the boss, Boss," said the Bull, and ducked his head into Dorian's eyeline to get his attention. "Hey, big guy, we're gonna get you someplace safe. You just need to walk with me, that's all. Can you do that for me?"

Dorian took a deep shuddering breath and nodded, steadying himself. "I think so." His voice only trembled a fraction.

Adaar bit her lip, eyeing her friend worriedly.

"Don't worry, Boss," the Bull told her, "I've got him."

"I know you do," she said quietly. A tight smile, concern tugging the corners of her mouth, and then she sighed. "Let's go." Cassandra shifted the shield slung across her shoulders, palm laid on the hilt of her sword. The Bull let his hands drop from Dorian's arms and didn't quite know what to do with them. He rubbed an old scar across the knuckles as Adaar folded up her map again. He fell into step with Dorian and tried not to watch him too blatantly.

*

Dorian had left off the begging, though this was somehow worse. Instead he leaned against the Bull’s arm and in a low, hot voice spoke some of the filthiest shit the Bull had heard in his life. It wasn’t the worst, probably--you tended to hear some fucked up things, living the way he did--but it wasn’t what Dorian was saying, but rather the way he said it. He leveraged his words like weapons, ones he seemed almost distasteful of. Dorian said them as though he meant to tempt the Bull into taking what was offered to him, on false pretenses, and against his own morals. It made him a bit sick, no offense to Dorian. He couldn’t hold it against the ‘vint, not when Dorian made to degrade himself out of a desperation born from forces outside his control, but the skin between his shoulderblades pricked with revulsion. If Dorian genuinely thought that prostrating himself to be used and abused was the tried and true method to getting what he wanted, it kinda made the Bull want to invade Tevinter, all on his own. If he could deck even one guy who’d made Dorian think this, it’d probably be worth getting turned into some smug magister’s mindless blood slave. Probably.

"--leash your mages," Dorian was saying, and shit, he didn't like the sound of that, not in this case. "I deserve... to be punished, if you knew the things I've done, you'd want to tie me up too. Have your way with me, I'd let you be too rough, it's what I deserve--"

The Bull tuned him out again, gut roiling in revulsion. He'd no intention of ever using Dorian for his own pleasure and playing at it was one thing, if or when Dorian wanted a thing like that. But it wouldn't be real, and he wouldn't want it to be real anyway. Dorian deserved better, deserved someone to treat him right, not _this_.

*

Dusk settled upon them like the somber silence of a mourning party. As the the final rays of the sun dipped below the horizon, and the first stars shone faintly in the resulting twilight, they stumbled into the town. The market had trickled away with the last of the sun and the bare stalls held a lonely vigil as their small group passed through, dust coming up in half-hearted puffs. Dorian was quiet, shoulders slumped and head bowed as though watching where he put his feet was the highest limit of what he could manage. The Bull watched him, wished there was something else to be done for him. But there was not. The encroaching darkness made it difficult to make out the tell-tale line of Dorian's mouth and the strain in his eyes. Patterns tried to shape themselves out of the darkness, revolving with hypnotic slowness and the Bull fought to clear his vision. His eye did that often these days, leaving him straining for the distinct details of his surroundings, and this was a hell of a time for that shit. He kept his focus on Dorian, the priority, and trusted his hearing, reflexes, and Cassandra's sharp gaze to take care of the rest.

The comparatively bright lanterns of the inn's common room did him no favors in the opposite direction. His eye burned. The Bull kept it trained on the dark hairs curling at Dorian's nape, above his rounded, trembling shoulders, until it adjusted a fistful of heartbeats later. All the bustle and noise of a town at midday suffused the large room and the Bull caught snatches of five or six different conversations. Then there was a lull, the kind of hush that tended to settle when two very large Qunari entered a room.

He let Adaar handle the innkeeper. The Bull kept his posture loose and his expression just this side of dim-witted, taking in the details of the room. In one corner a man with sharp eyes--and a sharper dagger--watched them. In another shadow, a couple, drunk off of cheap ale and young infatuation, oblivious to the world around them. A serving girl kept looking at him through her lashes. At one large table there was card game going and one of the players, a dark, provocatively dressed woman, had the Inquisition insignia on one button. She was cheating and, by the looks of her glee, succeeding tremendously.

No danger, and no one looking askance at Dorian either. All eyes were on the rest of them, mostly Adaar, making no effort to hide her fucking _glowing green hand_. The imposing Seeker in full armor hovering at her side wasn’t particularly inconspicuous either. The Bull flexed a little, subtly, just to see who was watching him. A few faces in the crowd flushed and he had to chuckle at that, but he could feel a hot gaze on him, brazen. The Inquisition agent winked as she swept coin into her large, plumed hat.

And of course, _Dorian_ , who was staring intently as if mesmerized. The Bull sobered and drew his shoulders up. He hadn’t forgotten, exactly, but he wasn’t used to having quite that effect on Dorian anymore. In the early days he’d watched the Bull with as much base curiosity as suspicion, but that had faded a good long while ago, though he still liked to complain about how absurdly large his pants were. But that meant he thought about the Bull’s pants, and that was real friendship, wasn’t it?

Adaar, done with bargaining for their room, made to escort Dorian up the stairs, her touch gentle on his elbow. The Bull stopped her.

“Let me,” he said, and when she opened her mouth to protest, continued, ”You really wanna hear what he gets off on? I know you don’t wanna see it.”

“Dorian is my friend,” she said stubbornly.

“And I’m saying, as his friend, you need to let me handle this. He’ll thank you when his head’s on right again.”

Adaar seemed to deflate upon herself. “You’re right,” she said softly, and patted Dorian’s arm before pulling Cassandra away.

“Just you and me, big guy,” said Bull, shaking his head.

*

At last, Dorian’s breathing slowed as he dropped into sleep, hopefully to sleep off the last lingering effects of whatever the demon’d hit him with, and the Bull took a good look at him. Frankly, Dorian looked like shit, pale and exhausted, and entirely rumpled. The faint traces of makeup around his eyes were smeared, giving the impression of bruising, the redness from where he’d cried out of frustration not helping. His hair was disheveled, moustache completely out of sorts, and it shook the Bull to see him like this. Carefully, he straightened out Dorian’s hair as best he could, his large hands gentle and steady. He didn’t dare touch the moustache, for fear of doing it wrong, and somehow waking Dorian as a result. He needed the sleep and the gesture felt too familiar, too intimate. Instead the Bull rearranged Dorian in the bed until he could pull the bedclothes up satisfactorily, and left him there in the dark, made soft by the faint glowing embers of the fire. He found Adaar and Cassandra in the inn’s tavern, got himself a drink, and very resolutely did not think about Dorian for the rest of the night.

The trip to Skyhold, thankfully, remained uneventful. Adaar practically hovered over Dorian, who pretended to be quite cross but the Bull could see the pleased warmth that crinkled the corner of his eyes. Beside the Bull walked Cassandra, too preoccupied in her own thoughts to watch the way he watched Dorian. Krem'd accuse him of mother henning but the Bull worried nonetheless. Dorian seemed to have very little memory of the previous evening, though undoubtedly Adaar had given him the general idea. It was good he didn't have to face the memory of that, though it unsettled the Bull to think he remembered everything Dorian didn't.

*

Skyhold was good, in a way. The routine grounded him, each day’s demands enough to keep him out of his head, and to keep his thoughts off Dorian. That was hardest; he hadn’t realized just how much of his routine revolved around the man. Drinking with the Chargers had somehow often been replaced with evenings spent in Dorian’s room. They put away plenty of alcohol between the two of them, certainly, but those nights they so often forgot glasses of wine for hours at a time. The pretense had been chess, at first, Dorian ever so certain he could outwit the Bull, but before their little romp in the Graves, it tended to devolve. Dorian was clearly delighted by the breadth and depth of the Bull’s knowledge and loved to spark debates, to challenge the Bull at every turn, clever and sly.

Now, well, they weren’t avoidant, exactly. If their eyes met, they’d wave, or stop to chat, but only in passing. The Bull didn’t seek out Dorian and Dorian himself rarely even left the library. Perhaps he’d gotten caught up in research, or simply _really_ did not want to see the Bull. Which left an odd sort of empty feeling in his chest but who could really blame Dorian? The Bull had known, then, that things would change. At the time, he’d preferred to risk his own relationship with Dorian than let anything damage the friendship between Dorian and Adaar. Dorian might not need the Bull but he needed Adaar, and that was what mattered.

The tavern felt quieter, somehow, than Dorian’s quarters ever had, and the Bull was content to sit and watch. The Chargers were singing like a pack of mongrels, Stitches and Grim hoisting Rocky between them, Dalish with her arm slung across Skinner’s shoulders. Krem laughing into his tankard. The Bull grinned at them, his _boys_ , but felt no need to join in, though he knew all the words to _that_ bawdy song. Had come up with most of them, in fact.

Adaar threw herself into the seat across him and miraculously didn’t spill a drop from her tankard. _Praise Andraste indeed_ , the Bull snorted to himself.

“Evening,” she said, nodding.

“Boss,” said the Bull, inclining his head.

She downed half her drink in one go and let him sit in silence for a stretch. She was watching her ale, like it was the Tome of Koslun itself. Might’ve even had more answers too. Koslun was all questions, most of which the Bull had no idea how to answer, and now had no right to even try.

“I think,” said Adaar, sudden but not unkind, “that it’s not so out of place to consider you might be, you know, in love with Dorian.”

On the whole the Bull was not a man who startled easily, and prided himself on his ability to take shit in stride. He knocked his entire tankard in his lap. The wasted beer soaked his trousers as he stared entirely dumbfounded at the Inquisitor.

“Sorry,” he said, “You wanna run that by me again?”

“You know, Dorian?” She wiggled the fingers on her left hand, the Anchor’s light flickering expressively. “Tevinter magister? Sarcastic, cocky, ridiculously good-looking? That Dorian?”

“He’s not a magister,” said the Bull, automatically. She smirked, and reached over to right his fallen tankard. He narrowed his eye at her and she patted his hand consolingly. _Smug little shit_ , he thought, without any heat and an almost unbearable fondness.

"What if I am?" he countered, "Gonna give me the talk?"

"Oh no," she said, frank and open, "I know you'll treat him right. That's not my point. It's maybe the opposite of my point."

"How's that?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"I'm saying, give him a push. Don't wait for him to come to you first, it'll take too long."

"If he doesn't want--" the Bull started, but Adaar interrupted.

"He does. It's just. He's afraid, you know, of being happy."

The Bull thought of all the laughs surprised out of Dorian and cut short, the small smiles he couldn't quite bring to show anyone properly. The way Dorian moved skittishly away from the real affection of friends, wouldn't hear a lick of real praise for anything other than the superficial.

"Yeah," he said, heavily, "I know."

Adaar took one of his hands in both her own and looked at him in earnest.

"Please make him happy."

"Sure, Boss," he said, "I'll do what I can."

She squeezed his hand and smiled sweetly, then let go. She pushed herself away from the table and stood, shaking out her coat. She paused on her way to the door.

"And Bull--"

"Yeah?"

"Might want to clean up that mess!"

*

"Bull?"

He looked up from his drink to find Dorian standing beside his chair. Dorian's hands were folded in front of him and he looked uncomfortable but somber, not annoyed. The set of his jaw was resolute, though his hands fidgeted.

"Dorian, hey." He couldn't quite keep that creeping note of affection out of his tone, but that was alright. Demons or no, they were friends. "What's up?"

"It's only..." Dorian's eyes flicked downwards, eyelashes fanning. He took a deep breath then looked into the Bull's face. "I wanted to apologize."

"For what?" asked the Bull, startled. He couldn't think of a damned thing Dorian had done to wrong him.

"In the Graves," Dorian began but the Bull cut him off.

"Shit, Dorian, you don't have to apologize for that." In fact, the Bull wanted to apologize to him a little, for how often the past few weeks he'd wanted to fuck Dorian senseless and the sick, creeping curl of shame in his gut that came with those thoughts. He couldn't separate out the idea of taking advantage of him from idle fantasy anymore. But he didn't say it, didn't want to have to put any of that on Dorian's shoulders.

"Truly?" Dorian asked, looking genuinely mystified.

"Well, yeah. No one has to apologize for something they didn't do wrong."

"If you say so. Then, well, I was--we haven't finished our game, you know." They'd started that round of chess before the whole thing and the Bull felt a tightness in his chest that Dorian hadn't tried to put it away, after all this time.

"Right, I was beating you." The stiffness in the Bull's shoulders relaxed itself incrementally. Falling into old patterns was good, he could do that. It was so easy with Dorian.

"Or you're completely oblivious to my immensely clever strategy," Dorian sniffed, but he was smiling, like he'd forgotten how to play haughty and annoyed.

"Or you're losing, and don't want to admit it." The Bull smirked at Dorian as he stood, setting aside his drink. Someone'd finish it, or clear it away. Dorian probably had something just as good to drink hidden away in his rooms. He'd insist, of course, it was better than the swill the Rest served but it hardly mattered to the Bull.

"You gloat now," said Dorian, "but we'll see who the true victor is, won't we."

They fell into step together as they crossed the courtyard and bickered their way up to Dorian's chambers.

As always, the fire in the grate was stoked and Dorian's room was warm, though not overly so. Their game was still set on the table tucked away near the fireplace, Dorian's broad-backed chair nearer to the heat and the Bull's low stool set opposite.

"I, ah, may have bumped it once," Dorian admitted, thumbing his mustache, "But I think I've set it right. And if I didn't, it's probably in your favor anyway."

"I didn't think you'd cheat, Dorian," Bull told him warmly, that weight in his chest again.

"Yes, well, one can never be too careful. I am a 'Vint, after all, it's simply in our natures."

"Aw, you're not so bad for a 'Vint," the Bull said, laughing, as he eased his weight onto the stool, mindful of his knee.

They talked over chess, as they tended to, and Dorian asked after the Chargers. It was sweet, the way he'd remembered some small details the Bull had only mentioned offhand a month or so ago. He laughed, delighted, at the story of how they'd tromped halfway across the blighted countryside, looking for the most perfect romantic candle, the best florist, the exact, perfect poem, all so Krem could charm the Lady Seeker.

"I wish them the best," he said, shaking his head with his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"I think they've got a good shot," Bull told him, chuckling, "Krem's a real charmer, when he wants to be."

"Certainly there's no harm in trying to find some good thing in this mess," Dorian conceded, turning his attention back to the pieces spread in front of him.

The Bull watched Dorian survey the board, chin in hand, as he contemplated his next move. Damn, but he was beautiful, more so when he wasn't trying to be, when he was just _Dorian_. With even some of his walls down, Dorian was one of the most alluring people he'd ever met, vibrant and alive, but with a gentleness, too. Something the Imperium had tried to train out of him, and failed miserably. After all, he was here, in the thick of it, trying to save the damn world.

“I should thank you,” said Dorian, making his move at last.

“For what?” asked the Bull, and countered it. “For kicking your ass?”

“Bull,” said Dorian, peevishly, “I’m being serious.”

“Okay. What are you thanking me for?”

Dorian watched the board, tension lingering at the corners of his eyes and mouth. He dragged a hand down his face.

“You looked after me,” he said quietly. “You didn’t have to, but you did anyway.”

“Hey, I didn’t want you to hurt yourself. You’ll ruin your pretty face, for one.”

“That’s--you--” Dorian huffed and slapped his piece into position. “That’s another thing! This abominable flirting you do, you could have just gone ahead while I was willing, but you didn’t. I don’t understand.”

The Bull felt sick. “Dorian, if that’s what you consider willing, Tevinter’s a lot more fucked up than I thought.”

“I wanted it.”

“A demon made you want it, that’s not the same. I don’t fuck anyone who doesn’t come to me of their own volition. Is that what you think of me? That I don’t know the difference between sex and rape?”

Dorian stared hard at the board, past all the pieces they’d moved carelessly as they argued. He sighed.

“I’ve made a mess of this,” he said, “and I apologize. I know very well what kind of man you are, of course you wouldn’t do such a thing. I suppose I’m a fool, thanking you for being yourself.”

“Dorian,” said the Bull, uncomfortable, “It’s fine. You don’t have to thank me for not taking advantage of you.”

"But I want to, if I may. Perhaps it doesn’t matter to you, but it matters to _me_.”

“Alright,” said the Bull, “fine. You’re welcome.”

Dorian smiled, as if to himself. The Bull _really_ hoped he hadn’t told Dorian anything he didn’t already know. He seemed like a guy who knew his boundaries well, and wasn’t afraid to enforce the, whether with words or magic. But it was still unsettling to be thanked for basic respect.

They played in silence, then, as the tension crept from the both of them, until it was comfortable again. There was a sharp difference between fearing what you’d say next and not needing to speak to break the quiet. Dorian’s moves were no longer sloppy, though he was losing badly. The Bull felt sorry for him, if only because it was unfair. Dorian hadn’t grown up playing the same kind of chess Bull had, with three players and seventy-five pieces. The gambits numbered in the thousands. But Dorian didn’t seem to mind he was losing in the slightest, though he was normally viciously competitive. He was smiling to himself and the Bull wondered if he even knew he was. Sincerity was a good look on him, and the Bull wished Dorian realized that.

Dorian moved his tamassran and the Bull could see the rest of the game unfold in his head. Poor Dorian. But the Bull didn’t feel enough pity to stop him from making his move.

"Ben-Hassrath takes Magister."

Dorian's gaze was sharp on the board, as if he were contemplating something. He looked up, paused, and then, voice pitched low, he asked, "is that a promise?"

His eyes were on the Bull's face, intent, and his lips parted. Fuck if that didn't go right to his dick, arousal flaring up his spine. He thought of Adaar saying _don't wait for him to come to you_ and felt a little proud, and smug too. Then he stood, shoving the stool back.

"Dorian," he said, roughly, "I'd like to kiss you now." And Dorian, standing and coming around the table to meet him, said only, " _Please_."

The Bull knocked into the table with his hip as he moved to take Dorian by the shoulders, and pieces scattered everywhere. Neither cared in the slightest. One of the Bull's hands was sliding to cup Dorian's jaw and Dorian's hands moved up his chest as the Bull bent to press his lips to Dorian's. He'd intended for it to be as gentle a kiss as he could give but Dorian dug his nails in and threw himself into it. It was fucking fantastic, even better than he'd ever thought, the feel of Dorian's lips on his, the faint nip of his teeth. As fervent as he kissed, there was no aggression to it, only passion, daring the Bull to take control of it. Which he did, grip firm on Dorian's hip and shoulder, hard enough to bruise but not break. Dorian's mouth opened to his, yielding with a breathy little gasp, and what was the Bull to do but frame Dorian’s jaw with one great hand and apply himself to thoroughly fucking Dorian’s mouth with his tongue.

"I had thought," said Dorian, pulling away breathless, "that I'd disgusted you somehow."

" _Fuck no_ ," said the Bull with great feeling, hauling Dorian closer by his hips to kiss him again.

"You _were_ avoiding me," Dorian said, when they'd separated again, enough for him to speak, at least.

"Sorta," the Bull acknowledged. "Not you, but all the rest, demons and shit. Real fucked up."

"Ah," said Dorian, thoughtfully, "should we stop, then?"

"Nah," said the Bull, palming his ass, "I also wanted to give it to you, as good as you deserved, no demons involved. Seemed disrespectful otherwise."

"As good as I deserve?" Dorian's eyebrow quirked. It was such a perfectly Dorian expression that the Bull felt a surge of affection in his gut. He had to smile at that, a small thing, gentle with no edges.

"Shit yeah," the Bull told him, arm at Dorian's waist, hand settling warm at Dorian's hip. Holding him close. "You know how hot you are. A guy like you deserves everything he could want." He let his voice go sly, slipping into a playful, wicked rumble. "Maybe more."

“Is _that_ a promise?”

“Could be,” the Bull said, biting at Dorian’s jaw and pressing kisses to his bared throat. Dorian's little indrawn gasp of air was damn near the sexiest thing he'd heard in a good long while.

"You seem very, ah, confident you can give me what I want," said Dorian archly, though he pressed closer.

"Sure I can." His voice dropped to a low growl and he gave Dorian's ass a squeeze. "And more."

Dorian shivered, pleased, and leaned in to kiss him.

"But, Dorian," he said as steadily as he could, "anything you don't want, you say so. You want things to stop, give me the watchword. I'll stop."

"Oh, of course," said Dorian airily, in that way he had of making himself the butt of the joke.

"I mean it," he pressed, and this of all things gave Dorian pause, his eyes widening, hesitant. It made him look young and that in turn made the Bull want to put himself between Dorian and any harm that could befall him.

"You'll stop? Just like that?"

"I'll. Stop." The Bull emphasized the words separately. "I _need_ you to trust me on this."

"Very well," said Dorian, as gracious as if he were accepting a friendly duel. "I accept."

"You have a watchword?" he prompted.

"Archon," said Dorian, hesitantly, "I think? It seems safe enough..."

"Hey, if you wanna try out some hot Arishok-on-Archon roleplay, we can change it then."

Dorian laughed, but considered it briefly, gaze going distant as he bit his lip.

"Let's not rule it out, I suppose."

Then he blinked, and quietly asked, "And what of yours?"

The Bull chuckled, touched, "It's katoh, but unless you pull any demon crap, I doubt we'll need it."

*

“You know,” Dorian breathed, into the Bull’s mouth, “I believe I was promised more.”

“Hey,” said the Bull, thumb on Dorian’s nipple, “don’t doubt me. I always deliver.”

"Show me," said Dorian, imperious, and hooked his legs around the Bull's waist in a truly impressive show of dexterity.

"Can do," the Bull told him, one large hand cupping his ass, spanning nearly the entire width of it. Between their bodies, Dorian's cock twitched.

*

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dorian moaned, “Fuck fuck fuck. _Harder_.”

The Bull complied, rolling his hips to push deeper into the heat of Dorian’s body. Dorian, facedown below him, arms under his head, back in an elegant arch that had his perfect ass at the perfect angle. Helplessly, the Bull jerked his hips, thrusting in again. He bent himself flush over the plump curve of Dorian’s ass to bite at his shoulders. Dorian whined, fisting a hand in his own hair.

“Dorian,” the Bull growled, “You feel so damn good. Like you were made to get fucked on my cock. You’re so fucking hot, so good. I could fuck you all day and never get tired of it.”

“Oh,” Dorian gasped, “Bull--”

*

Dorian was beautiful when he came, crying out wordlessly and tightening around the Bull. Even as he rode out the aftershocks he turned to catch the Bull’s mouth in a sloppy kiss, biting desperately at his lips.

“Bull,” he said, fucked out and hoarse, “Bull, come in me, _please_ \--fuck--I want to feel you.”

The Bull was helpless to do anything but what Dorian asked of him, and buried himself deep inside Dorian as he came, teeth sinking into Dorian’s shoulder.

*

Into the hazy warm silence, the Bull said, "Damn it, you're not even a magister."

Dorian snorted quietly, amused, and pushed his face into the Bull's shoulder.

"No, but it was the perfect set up, you have to admit."

"Couldn't've been better if you planned it." The Bull yawned, cracking his jaw, and paused. "Did you?"

"Did I what?" Dorian asked hazily, and then propped himself up on his elbow to look Bull in the eye. "Did I plan this? Of course not. I only wanted to make things right between us."

"Well," said the Bull, looking down at how they were naked and pressed together from head to foot, "I think you managed."

Dorian laughed and settled against him again. "Quite so, I'd say."

He was quiet for a moment.

"You must understand, though, why I was afraid of this."

"Yeah, you're afraid of getting used. And left behind."

Dorian closed his eyes. "Yes, but," he said, opening them again, "I trust you won't do that to me."

"I won't," the Bull agreed. "If this ends, it's on your terms."

Dorian looked at him for a moment, intent, and then murmured, wonderingly, as if to himself, " _If._ "

"Look," the Bull said, taking Dorian's hand in his own, "I like you, Dorian. You're a good guy, and a friend. This thing, whatever it is, it's good and as long as you want to keep doing this, then I do too. Let me take care of you."

Dorian looked at the Bull's hand cradling his, thumb stroking over his knuckles, and smiled faintly. "I'd like that," he said.


End file.
